Mommy's Little Ginger Cat
by Feather Gambler
Summary: Neil didn't always love mirrors.


_**So I decided to try my hand at a one-shot. This came to mind suddenly and I just **_**had**_** to get it down before I forgot about it. I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this, even if it's just a frowny face or a smiley, I'll be happy to get any feedback.**_

_**So…**_

…

Neil shut the door quickly behind him, taking a deep breath and sinking to the bathroom floor in silent anguish. His new pyjamas were thick enough to shield his body from the cold of the tiles, but his bare feet were starting to freeze, his toes stinging from the carpet burn he'd obtained from his quick escape. The eight-year old slowly folded in on himself. He wanted to call his mom to come get him.

He wanted to go home.

It had been his mother's idea in the first place. She'd thought it was a good way for Neil to make some friends. One of his classmates had his birthday and decided to celebrate it by throwing a sleepover party for his whole class, which meant Neil was invited too. He hadn't wanted to go, even tearing up and throwing the invitation away before either of his parents could see it.

Unluckily though, his mother was friends with his classmate's mother and they'd gotten to talking while waiting for their kids after school one day. His mother told the lady that he would be attending the party, even though he'd begged her not to make him go. Neil had gotten a firm glare and a stern "You're going and that's final!" from his mother and didn't say another word on the subject, hoping to get the torture over with and spend the rest of his life sulking about it whenever his mom entered the room.

Neil's mother wasn't a strict lady, but lately she'd started to worry that Neil wasn't making any friends, and that maybe it was her fault for cooing over her only child too much. She'd thought that maybe a nudge in the right direction and less interference on her part would set things straight and do him some good. That is, a nudge out of the sanctity of his bedroom and into the crossfire of a whole second grade class. She'd even bought him his new pyjamas for the occasion.

Neil hated her for it.

He may have temporarily escaped the wrath of his fellow classmates, but not seeing their derisive faces didn't mean that he couldn't hear their jeering taunts in his mind.

"_Ginger Cat, Ginger Cat. Mommy's Little Ginger Cat,_" they would sing.

Neil pulled his knees up to his face and let out an escapade of wild, wet sobs into the pants of his Batman PJs. He could feel the fabric getting soggy and sticking onto his knees; but he didn't care. He just wanted to get away.

He couldn't help the way he was. His mother had said it was her favourite thing about his appearance, that he was adorable because of it. She had been the only one to ever say that about him, everyone else thought he was anomalous, and they made an eager point of telling him so. It wasn't his fault; he wanted it to change, to be different, and not to stand out because of what he looked like. He wanted to be 'normal' like all the other kids.

Neil stood up; leaning against the door and wiping his face clean with his sleeve. He looked into the mirror of the medicine cabinet above the sink and sniffed again. He was too short to see himself in the mirror if he stood up close; but when he stood against the door across from it, he could just make out the top of his forehead in the reflection.

His bare feet were getting frozen against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, but he just kept staring at himself, silently praying and begging that it would go away and leave him alone forever. He didn't want to look at himself anymore.

Neil's head sagged and he sniffed again. He tried his best not to cry any longer, crying was for babies; and as far as Neil knew, he wasn't a baby. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly in an effort to force back the hot, painful tears of his torment, his nose getting blocked as he held it all back. His breath hitched when he sobbed again. He lifted his head and looked up into the mirror once more, standing on his tippy toes to see more of his face along with his hair. He could easily hear his classmates' laughter in his head as they sang:

"_Ginger Cat, Ginger Cat. Mommy's Little Ginger Cat!"_

They were always laughing _at _him, never _with_ him; always pointing and cackling when he shuffled past. They were mean to him, they thought he was an embodiment of the word 'freak', and it was all because of his hair… his carroty-ginger hair.

He sniffed again to clear his blocked nose and walked closer to the mirror, his image disappearing due to his lack of height. It was just as well he couldn't see himself; because he was about ready to maul the mirror until the glass was only glitter on the floor, rip it to shreds until the red of his hair would bleed away and he didn't have to bare it anymore, until it was just as broken as he was. He wanted the colour to stay behind in his image as he walked away, stripping him of his reason to hide away.

Neil hated mirrors. They were everywhere! Why did he constantly have to be reminded about how different he was? Why did he _have_ to be different at all? Why couldn't he just be left alone? He reviled the way he looked, down to the very last freckle.

He sat underneath the sink in a dejected heap. He could hear the others playing tag and laughing and having fun downstairs. Some of the girls screamed and giggled in glee, while he heard some of the boys roaring with laughter after having tackled their friends to the ground. Tag was Neil's least favourite game. Whenever they played, Neil was always 'it' first. When he tagged someone else, they'd pretend he'd infected them and an epidemic had started, everyone falling to the floor in mock agony. Then he would be disqualified for cheating by spreading a deathly disease. As he slumped away to sit out and watch them play without him, they would sing:

"_Ginger Cat, Ginger Cat. Mommy's Little Ginger Cat_."

After he'd set out his sleeping bag in the far corner of the living room that night, he'd heard one of the girls call for everyone to play tag. Neil had shot out of there faster than a speeding bullet and hadn't stopped until he'd shut the upstairs' bathroom door behind him. He wanted to run home and collapse into his mother's comforting arms and cry until all of his tears and sobs had been depleted. He wanted to be somebody, anybody, other than who he was at that minute.

Neil stood up quickly, forgetting he was beneath the sink, and hit his head hard against the ceramic basin. Instead he crawled out, clutching his aching head in his hands and trying to not to cry again from the dull pain he'd infused upon his scalp, instead letting out a whimper as he moved. He could feel another painful sob pushing up from his small chest and his lower lip trembled in effort to suppress it. His grey-green eyes searched the bathroom for something to focus on, to forget the pain. They fell on the now open door of the medicine cabinet just above the sink, above him.

The cabinet had creaked open after he'd banged his head against the bottom of the basin, the shock from the impact forcing it to lose its grip on the magnets keeping it closed. He could see almost every embellishment that littered the inside of it, and his curiosity was almost impossible to conceal. His arms wouldn't have reached if he were standing on the floor. Neil lifted himself off of the tiles and got a leg up on the edge of the bathtub. He climbed up to the sink and kneeled on the side to get a better look into the cabinet.

He couldn't read the names of every product on the shelves, some of them were just too long and complicated for him to understand; and what he could make out wasn't very interesting. After getting bored of looking into the small cupboard space, Neil's eyes rested on a small box in the corner of the bottom shelf. He picked it up in his small hands and read the words slowly, even sounding it out loud to be sure of what he read: "Blon-de-in-a-Box."

The picture on the box was of the busts of two platinum-blonde teenagers, a boy and a girl. They both wore sunglasses and had a bright light glaring from behind them that looked like sunshine. The boy was running a hand through his hair and the girl struck a pose with her hand against the side of her head to make her look even more glamorous, her hair swaying beside her.

Neil turned the box around and sounded those words out loud as well, "How-to-yoos." The directions had pictures alongside, so he didn't have to read all of the instructions to know how to use it, easily figuring out what to do by himself. He looked at the picture of the boy and girl again. The boy seemed so happy and cool just raking his fingers through his shiny locks, his blue eyes peeking at the photographer just over the frames of his sunglasses, his teeth sparkling as he smiled.

Neil wanted to be just like him.

He took his thin fingers through his own ginger hair and grinned as widely as the Cheshire Cat. He couldn't believe his luck! He would show all of his classmates.

He couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces.

…

_**Yeah, it's not very long; but the idea of a little Neil is just too darn cute. Neil is one of my favourite characters to work with – he's just so malleable. Anyway, I have red hair (more strawberry blonde than red but I'm still classified as a ginger) and I hate how people treat you because of the colour of your hair.**_

_**Gingers do have souls! *cough cough***_

_**^^ Please review?**_

_**Love,**_

_**~Toymaker**_


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